


wing-ridden angel (set yourself free)

by reap (plasticveins)



Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticveins/pseuds/reap
Summary: Maybe it’s less of a loss and more of a delayed victory, Bobby thinks.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [kpopolymfics2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/kpopolymfics2017) collection. 



> This fic was written for K-Pop Olymfics 2017. Olymfics is a challenge in which participants write fics based on prompt sets and compete against other teams of writers, organized by genre. 
> 
> This is Team Canon’s fic for the following prompt set:  
>  **BTS – "Run"**  
> [lyrics](https://colorcodedlyrics.com/2015/11/bts-bangtansonyeondan-run) | [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKysONrSmew) **✖** [supplementary](https://www.flickr.com/photos/bongarang/6501969829/) [prompts](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9f45fa40135ba0146022058b706a2a0e/tumblr_ohac4vz1nL1rmc0vpo1_500.jpg)
> 
> The other 2 fics for this prompt can be found in [the collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/kpopolymfics2017). Competition winners are chosen by the readers, so please rate this fic using [this survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSemeLSBJn7nx81e2lsqKUldud22gP9U-r-Ycd2vn5SBJdliyw/viewform?usp=sf_link)!
> 
> A/N: uh the overall verdict that i've come to after writing this fic is that i'm inept and can't time manage for my life lmao. huge s/o to s, the love of my life, for beta-ing and listening to me complain endlessly. also to our Captain Hedgehog™ for being so patient and to #teamgaybathtub2k17, you're all gems and i love all of you!!

Bobby lives with his hands full of expiration dates. Sometimes they come in ink, stamped cleanly on each can of soup, on each ramen packet and cereal box. Sometimes they come in implication, murmured in the worn holes of his shirts or the way his friends don’t sling their arms around him and smile like they used to.

Bobby finds out with clenched teeth that nothing lasts forever—not love nor hate, not his favorite stuffed Pooh he’s clung to since childhood. Time is limitless, just like how the sky is blue, or how water is wet, or how hearts are made to beat and lungs were made to breathe. It doesn’t wait for you to catch up. Ever.

Bobby's learned to deal with it, because you can’t save everything from the clutches of time, whether it be friendships or relationships or a life, even. But this is the one thing Bobby refuses to let go of, and he’s nothing if not persistent.

_If you stop running, you’ll lose the race._

Bobby hates losing more than anything.

 

 

What Bobby remembers most in all of his time spent in apprehension, all this time with his palms sweaty and stomach twisted in anxiety, are the mirrored walls lining the practice rooms, reflecting his image back at him. Bobby smiles, no calm and all agitation.

It’s his very first day as a trainee after landing the audition, hair all in his face, wrinkles in his jeans. He’s supposed to be meeting others today, as he’s been told. He can’t recall any of their names, or really anything about them. All he knows is that there’s two that he’s supposed to be grouped with, that he's stuck together with from this point on. But Bobby’s never been one for structure, he can just figure everything out as he goes. He’s always been good with people.

Bobby forces himself into a smile in the mirror, shaking off his nerves. It’s just him and the negative space, nothing to worry about.

 

 

After their very first evaluation together as a team, Bobby notices that Hanbin’s hands are still quivering. Bobby gets it, he understands the fear and the uncertainty. The three of them—they’ve still got a long ways to go, Bobby thinks, but they did good. Jinhwan sleeps with his head against the car window, and there’s not a word that’s spoken between them until Bobby clears his throat and fills in all the gaps.

“You…” Bobby says, with a mild edge to his voice, “you’re a lot different from what I expected, you know.”

Hanbin smiles, shy and nervous, the atmosphere between them lifting. Bobby hums a small tune that resonates for just a moment before it dies in his throat. Hanbin’s voice is raw when he answers, “I get that a lot.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Bobby murmurs, syllables gentle on his tongue. Hanbin doesn’t respond, both of them swimming in silence. He listens to all the small noises in the room, from traffic to the way Hanbin taps his fingers against his phone screen. There’s an odd kind of familiarity Bobby feels as he watches him, as if he’d known Hanbin for his entire life despite not really knowing him at all. Hanbin glances at him, holds his gaze, and exhales.

“What did you expect, then?” Hanbin asks between tension and curiosity. Bobby tilts his head back in thought, because this isn’t something he can easily explain.

“I don’t know,” he starts, careful. Hanbin doesn’t seem like the type to really give a shit about impressions, but Bobby hates being misunderstood. “You’re just not how I’d thought you’d be, is all. You know we were really damn awkward not too long ago.”

There’s another punch of laughter, and Hanbin answers with a simple, “Yeah.”

“I’m glad we were able to get past that,” Bobby says, and Hanbin nods with that sheepish smile of his. Bobby’s grown quite fond of it.

“You’re just like how I expected, honestly,” Hanbin murmurs, closing his eyes and shifting in his place. Bobby doesn’t ask or respond, but he doesn’t really need to because he knows exactly what Hanbin means. Bobby’s always been open and candid, easy to read. They’ve grown comfortable with each other in the short time they’ve had, and Bobby owes it all to his inexplicable sincerity, to the obnoxious positivity of his. Bobby’s satisfied with the teamwork he’s built with Hanbin—with Jinhwan too. He wouldn’t trade them for anyone else.

 

 

Bobby presses a cheek against the surface of the desk, clicking the pen in his hand, words trapped in the back of his throat. He’s got lyrics to finish by morning, but loose thoughts are the hardest to string together when the caffeine dies down, when the crash wrings him by the neck and his mind diffuses into static. The glow of the computer monitor almost hurts his eyes, and he’s tired. So, so tired.

He glances at Jinhwan who’s slumped against the wall, knees curled to his chest and face hidden. Hanbin is sleeping right in Bobby’s reach with his head tucked into his arms, so quiet and so small, until Bobby rocks him awake by the shoulder and he stirs with a groan.

“What time is it?” Hanbin asks with his words slurred, hushed, rubbing at his eyes. If wasn’t for the fact that Hanbin’s always pressed for time, always stuck with his worry half in the past and half in the future, Bobby wouldn’t know what he’s saying at all. But Hanbin always is. He’s always worrying, always chasing _something_.

“Only three,” Bobby answers, glancing at the clock on his phone.

“Good,” Hanbin utters after letting out a sigh of relief, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. Bobby notices the weight in his limbs, the heaviness in the way he moves. But this is Hanbin in his element, no matter how worn he may be, with his eyes narrowed and his hair mussed. He was made for this. “We can still finish, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bobby echoes when Hanbin glances at him for reassurance. The room somehow feels even more claustrophobic in the dark, boxed into their little shared space. The monitor light refracts in Hanbin’s eyes and—Bobby can see it, the glimmer of ambition and exhaustion and apprehension, all at once. Bobby smiles at him and doesn’t let anything slip past the cracks. “We got this.”

 

 

Bobby taps his fingers against the polished floor of the practice room and counts each tick of the clock. It’s 2:42 AM and something stirs in his stomach—something between anxiety and lethargy, apprehension and weariness. He glances at Donghyuk who’s sitting with his head hung low, back pressed against the wall of mirrors, hair mussed and skin beading with sweat. The room is filled with an unsettling sort of silence.

“Hanbin’s gonna kick our asses if he sees us sitting around like this,” Jinhwan says as an evocative reminder, eyes trained on the ground in front of them, legs crossed and expression so, so tired.

“Yeah,” Bobby agrees, voice quiet. His arms are strained when he smooths his hair down and adjusts his snapback. Each of their eyes fall back on him as if searching for some sort of queue—searching for someone to follow. Bobby’s long noticed now, how much they need Hanbin, how heavily they all lean on him as a pillar of support. In comparison, Bobby’s not all that good at leading the way, just good at saying the right things at the right time. The obnoxious positivity they all rely on. “We can do this. This is nothing we’re not used to.”

Junhwe pipes in, raw and throaty, with a complaint he somehow had the energy to form, “Yeah, because it works out great when I’m already fucking sick of practicing.” It’s reasonable, Bobby thinks, because they’ve all got knives pressed against their throats, forced to program lyrics and vocal technique and routine into their systems until that’s all they know. Bobby sighs, and Junhwe shoots him a glare, an eyeroll for good measure.

“All of us are, you know,” Bobby says as he stands up, smoothing his palms against his jeans. They can’t afford to waste anymore time, so Bobby uses that little talent of his to the fullest, because what else is he useful for if not moral support? “Let’s just—let’s try to keep going for as long as we can, yeah?”

 

 

Hanbin is always tired out of his mind. Bobby always wondered how he keeps himself going like some self-sufficient machine, all business and no humor, grinding out the steps of each dance and the words of each song until he knows them like the back of his hand. He keeps it meticulous and unforgiving, and Bobby watches him in the wall of mirrors that box them both in, the ones that reflect every imperfection back at them as if in mockery (but Hanbin doesn’t have to worry about that because he’s not the type to make mistakes).

The music washes out all other noise besides the squeaking of Hanbin’s shoes. Not a single beat missed nor a step out of place—Bobby observes with the same sort of awe he’s had since the very beginning, since the first time Hanbin’s danced for him to watch. Hanbin pulls it all together, pieces everything bit by bit into a larger picture, frame by frame of sharp movements and clean execution. There’s sweat soaking through his shirt when he finishes.

“Good?” he asks, reaching for the water bottle that Bobby hands him. He’s going over the new choreography for their final performance, putting it all together without a complaint. Bobby has the utmost admiration for him in times like this, keeping himself together under impossibly suffocating pressure.

“Yeah,” Bobby answers, and he doesn’t think he really needs to give feedback because everything Hanbin does is captivating. His presence on stage had always been monstrous. “It’s good. Honestly.”

“But it can be better,” Hanbin says between breaths, wiping away at the sweat on his forehead with his shirt. Bobby agrees with him—there’s always, _always_ room for improvement—but Hanbin will work his way into collapse at this rate, if he stresses over this any more.

Bobby says, “But it’s enough for us to win.”

“It’s never enough, Jiwon,” Hanbin responds, and Bobby doesn’t expect it. It’s been a while since he’s last heard his name like that—it’s been since he’d last been on the phone with his mom God knows how long ago. He finds himself struggling to even respond, because this is the affirmative kind of Hanbin that always gives Bobby motivation. It’s amazing, how comfortable they’ve gotten with each other over the years, as Bobby lets Hanbin pull him along, catches him in the storm. Hanbin rubs his palms against his thighs and makes his way to the speaker again, hitting play, and tells Bobby, “We have no room to settle, hyung.”

And he's right.

 

 

Bobby’s way beyond nervous—not just for himself but for all of them—when their futures are all put on the line. Everything about this feels surreal, almost, and Bobby doesn’t quite know what to do with himself as he waits for the next stage. Their final song.

Hanbin is quiet, pressing his palms together in silent prayer.

Bobby finds himself praying too, invocations racing by in the back of his head, all unease and no composure, when the first piano key rings in his ears and he lifts the microphone to his lips.

 

 

Hanbin has his head in his palms, soundless and still, when they make their way backstage again.

All of them are wordless—rendered completely speechless—faces wet and tear-streaked. Bobby makes his way to Hanbin immediately, pulling him closer, because Bobby knows that he can't cope. Bobby thinks he’s experiencing heartbreak for the first time when Hanbin digs his face into his shoulder and everything falls apart.

Bobby doesn’t know what to even say at this point, but he runs a hand along Hanbin’s neck, kissing him on the top of his head and carding fingers through his gelled hair, alleviating him. Everything is chaotic, loud, and all their expressions solemn. Bobby doesn’t know if he can even comfort himself after all of this, let alone anyone else—if he can even do anything as damage control.

But Bobby has no other choice, because Hanbin doesn't have anybody else to fall back on. Bobby’s always been there since the beginning, he remembers—when Hanbin overthinks his way into a migraine, when he wears himself away into dust and debris. Bobby’s here to grease all the joints, to keep Hanbin standing when his knees give out. So that’s what he does, he eases Hanbin back onto his feet again, no matter how devastating all of this is, no matter how hopeless all of this seems.

Maybe it’s less of a loss and more of a delayed victory, Bobby thinks. He hopes that this is the case.

 

 

Seven hours of dance practice is awfully tiring on the bones. Bobby rolls around in fresh sheets after his shower, hair damp and vision blurred with fatigue. It’s almost unsettling how quiet it is, without the obnoxious arguments and Junhwe’s occasional bark of laughter. This is the kind of silence that comes from the dead, not a voice to be heard or a movement to be traced.

Sometimes, on placid nights like this, when boredom sinks in and the dorms are empty, Bobby coaxes all the stress right out of Hanbin’s body after a day of practice. Hanbin’s breathing always grows frantic and uneven too quickly, clutching onto Bobby’s arms and shoulders, biting down at the skin of his neck. Bobby always winces but he takes it, kissing the tension all away. It’s grounding—takes their minds off practicing, away from the uncertainty.

Tonight is not one of those nights, however, because Hanbin slumps on his bed and sleeps a little too soundlessly, unmoving, tied to the bed as if his skin were woven into the linen. This is almost surprising because Hanbin hardly sleeps, no matter how dejected, so Bobby knows better than to shake him awake (especially when Bobby can’t recall the last time Hanbin actually properly slept). They all need time to breathe sometimes, he supposes, and he lets Hanbin be.

Bobby doesn’t know why he feels particularly sullen today, a little broken and lonely, out of place almost. They’re just a little lost right now, Bobby reasons. Anyone would be discouraged when opportunity slips away from their fingertips like a fish gliding its way downstream, like a bird flying free from its cage. It's hard to keep grasp for so long, but they’ll get back in the swing of things eventually, they have to.

Bobby makes his way to Hanbin’s bed, little baby steps across the room, and kneels. He runs his fingers into Hanbin’s hair, smoothing his palm on his forehead to push his hair away from his face. Bobby plants kisses, modest and chaste on his nose, cheek, lips. There’s an odd sense of fondness in Bobby’s chest, the kind he thinks he’ll feel no matter what happens to them, no matter the disillusionment. No matter if they were about to lose everything.

Bobby promises to himself—to someone, to everyone—that it’ll be fine.

 

 

“Hey hyung,” Hanbin says, when the lights are switched off and nobody accompanies the two of them besides their own shadows. It’s disquieting, all of it, from the breeze blowing in from the window to the roughness in Hanbin’s voice. There’s an undercurrent of dejection that’s been made permanently recently, one that none of them can escape from, now that the hope has been replaced with hesitation and unease.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever just…” Hanbin trails off, eyes averted and voice almost lost in the background noise. His face drips of apprehension, of a tenseness that Bobby’s not fond of. But Bobby’s used to seeing this kind of thing, by now, and he’s still listening all the same. Hanbin swallows down hard. “Sometimes think that there’s no point to this?”

Bobby isn’t all that surprised to hear something like this, especially not from Hanbin. He smiles.

“Sometimes?” Bobby nearly scoffs, and somehow he finds himself laughing. Hanbin is taken aback, almost, because this probably isn’t something that should be funny. Bobby still doesn’t spare him any of the confusion. “God, more like all the time.”

Hanbin averts his eyes, glancing down at his lap. The glow of the lamplight hits his face at an odd angle, and it makes him appear even more exhausted than he already seemed to before. “Yeah? Even someone like you?”

“You’re full of dumb questions today,” Bobby points out, shifting in his place on his bunk. He can’t really discern Hanbin’s expression in the dark, not exactly, but he catches something along the lines of a grimace. Bobby tries to lighten the mood a bit, though he knows he can’t really do much. But he’s been trying his hardest, and he’s never been the type to quit. “We’ve been together for how many years now? Shouldn’t you know me a little better? I’m hurt.”

It works, after a few moments, takes a few long seconds of silence, until Bobby thinks he hears something like a chuckle, and Hanbin’s laughing now, too. “I guess you’re right. You know, I just—I wanna be happy.”

“Don’t overthink it,” Bobby tells him and presses his lips together into a line. He makes it as convincing as he possibly can, as sincere as he can manage, because comfort is what Hanbin needs. It’s all Bobby can offer him, all he can do. Bobby smiles, and says with the usual cheer in his voice, “We’ll be fine, all of us.”

 

 

The world is full of second chances. Bobby’s always believed this, no matter the circumstances.

Mix and Match is more than a little cruel to them, the brutal schedule even crueler. The workload is greater than it ever had been before, but they stomach it just fine—they have to. It takes almost a full year and the group falling apart in order for Hanbin to get back into loop.

Maybe it’s just the adrenaline rush he gets. Bobby watches Hanbin from the corner of his eye, move for move, in the mirror as he always does. Hanbin’s got the look of exhaustion engraved under his eyes, delicacy in his bones—but there’s this newfound hunger, the kind of fire that Bobby remembers when they first met, limbs awkward, words even more so. This is what Bobby missed, this is what Bobby remembers, in all the old recordings and late night rehearsals, when Hanbin would practice until his throat was raw and every seam in his body was worn, every muscle sore.

What amazes Bobby, after all the hell and bullshit they've been through, is Hanbin's capacity to keep himself going. Even now, Hanbin's the center of the team, in the center of their own little universe. He's struggling, but he's functioning, and maybe for once, this is good enough.

It takes a while to fully piece him back together, a while to pull him back onto his feet again, to get him _wanting_ and _chasing_ again. He takes baby steps, like teaching himself how to walk, whether it be on his own or relying on Bobby for brace. All of the members are patient, they let him take his time, through all the restlessness and every crack of disposition. Bobby tries his best to pacify him throughout all the panicking, all of the late night practices and all of the fear.

Jinhwan’s much easier to appease, and Bobby’s thankful for it, throughout all of this. He’s always been the equilibrium, acts as that extra bit of assurance for Bobby, because even he gets dispirited sometimes. Jinhwan doesn’t have much vulnerability, and Bobby admires him for it, truly. Jinhwan's the second anchor that holds Hanbin down from drifting.

When Bobby and Jinhwan find Hanbin holed up by himself in the recording booth with his knees pulled up to his chest, there’s not really much they have left to say.

“Hey,” Bobby utters, barely audible to even himself. Hanbin perks up, licking his lips. Bobby places his hands on both of Hanbin’s shoulders and offers a smile.

Hanbin doesn’t say anything, but Jinhwan chimes in, “Anxious for the show, huh?”

“Yeah,” he answers. His voice almost breaks, quivering in the way that Bobby hates, in the way that always gets to him. “God, I’m so fucking scared, and I just—”

“All of us are,” Jinhwan interjects, and he’s right. All of them are terrified out of their fucking minds. There’s rarely a day where they can take a step back and separate themselves from the pressure.

“You know, the others—” Bobby’s voice is mild when he speaks. Hanbin’s eyes are averted, staring at a spot on the ground, chest heaving and body tensing. Bobby understands it, why Hanbin’s so caught up, the pressure he has as the leader. Hanbin’s always been the one to keep everything glue together, but now all three of them carry a similar kind of weight. “They’re definitely even more scared than the three of us.”

“We’ve got nothing to lose, you know,” Jinhwan adds, and Bobby notices how something eases a bit in Hanbin, how his defenses lower just a little. Bobby’s grown a bit soft, being around Hanbin for all this time, always having his back.

“Yeah,” Bobby says, grinning. “It’s our second chance.”

 

 

The Show Me the Money stage isn’t as nearly as spacious or prestigious as some of their earlier performances as a group, but they’re nervous all the same.

Hanbin’s eyes are shifty as he licks his lips, frantic and frenzied, alarm in the way he jumps when Bobby holds his head still. Hanbin has a lot of little nervous habits, it’s always been like this. Bobby places a steady hand on his chest, his heartbeat in his palms, and kisses Hanbin on the forehead without a sound, simple and clean. Bobby whispers into his ear, “Hey, don’t worry okay? You’ll do fucking amazing up there.”

Hanbin blinks at him with dark yet soft eyes, and maybe now the nerves begin to leave him. He’s got Bobby on edge too. Hanbin says, small and meek, “I’m just—anxious.”

“You’re always anxious,” Bobby answers with a soft laugh, and when Hanbin characteristically frowns, the atmosphere lifts, just a bit. It’s not much—Hanbin is still tense and murmuring lyrics under his tongue like a benediction, like a last minute prayer—but Bobby thinks it’s still better than nothing.

“Okay but—what if I mess up again, what if I—” Hanbin stresses, voice quivering. Everything about him is so stiff, so rigid. He bites down on his lip so hard that Bobby thinks it might start bleeding. Bobby runs a soothing hand along the back of his neck. “Fuck, I’d _die_.”

“No, _shhh_ ,” Bobby hushes him, stroking the hair at his nape with deft fingers, coaxes the fear right out of him. Hanbin manages to calm, breaths still heavy and erratic, as he pulls his hood over his cap and swallows the lump in his throat. Hanbin's forehead drips with perspiration, and the apprehension seeps through his exterior like water through floodgates. There's not a single thing Hanbin fears more than making mistakes, and Bobby knows this better than anyone.

"Good luck," Bobby exclaims, grinning as bright as he can manage in a final burst of encouragement, right as Hanbin is about to step out on stage. “Get ready—”

“Showtime,” Hanbin turns and answers, voice almost inaudible. Bobby gets only a brief glimpse, but Hanbin’s finally smiling too, as bright as the damn sun. This is the one thing he loves seeing the most, Bobby realizes, and wishes for only the best.

As Hanbin performs, Bobby can feel every breath suspended in time resurface, joints and sinew pulled back in alignment, the blood in his veins palpitating smooth and easy through his arteries again. Something swells in Bobby’s chest, something between anxiety and avidity, and everything appears just a bit brighter. Nobody wants this more than he does.

Hanbin’s voice is much steadier, resonating down to the marrow of Bobby’s bones as he shouts, “Mic check 1, 2—”

Bobby’s heart swells in his chest so much that it forces the air right out of his lungs.

 

 

_If you stop running, you’ll lose the race._

Nobody likes to lose, right?

 

 

Hanbin’s shadow is much, much larger under a ceiling of lights. Bobby watches him from the side of the stage, framed by an ocean of color, shouting into the microphone until his voice drowns the stadium out, overshadowing the backing track and all of the cheering. Everything slows and the world tilts on it’s axis, shifts to one boy at the very center of the universe. Bobby doesn’t think Hanbin even needs the speakers to be heard like this.

“Go B.I, tell ‘em!” Bobby shouts, just like old times, and his voice resonates, just a second in a vast timeline, right before Hanbin’s sweeps back in and washes everything away.

And there it is—the light at the end of the tunnel, the light they’ve been chasing after this entire time in the dark. It’s all so, so bright, like staring into the sun. Bobby’s blinded, but he keeps chasing nonetheless.

Hanbin does tell them, just like how it is, every word just as pungent as the first time—when everything goes silent, completely still, and the spotlight drenches him in diamond dust.

 

 

Bobby pulls Hanbin to the side when nobody’s looking, when they’ve got minute before the encore and everyone’s too rushed to truly focus on anyone else. Bobby kisses him, quick and chaste, barely lasting a heartbeat. There’s a smile, all teeth, and it’s _real_.

“Are you happy?” Bobby finds himself asking, a murmur between hands and makeup brushes, between horror and ardor. Hanbin’s grin is the widest it’s ever been, Bobby notes—the most genuine it’s ever been.

“Yeah,” Hanbin says with wet eyes, softly. “Are you?”

Bobby nods, heart in his throat, and finds himself smiling too.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come and cry with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/switchjaehyun)!!


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